


let us pray

by kissy devil (pixiegf)



Series: I'm your heaven, I'm your hell [2]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Banter, Barebacking, Blasphemy, Body Worship, Choking, Church Sex, Daddy Kink, Exorcisms, Fluff, I mean dude you fucked an angry antichrist what did you expect, John Henry dies, John Henry is soft and sweet at multiple points, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Michael discovers he's got a thing for sacrilege, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Power bottom Michael, Priest Kink, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Roman Catholicism, Seduction, Sexual Coercion, Snuff, a little bit, but again Michael is not underage, kind of not really it's quick and light, oh yeah and Michael has MOOOOOD swings, there's a main fluffy part but then it's all downhill from there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 13:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17643518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiegf/pseuds/kissy%20devil
Summary: Just two days after Michael’s episode in the confessional with next-door neighbor and local priest Father John Henry, he gets arrested for his attack on a butcher in defense of Ms. Mead. John Henry, who happens to be a close ally to the head warlocks at the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, is informed that the grand chancellor will be paying a visit to his neighborhood to take a boy named Michael in.During Michael’s last sexual encounter with the priest, he spontaneously revealed his black eyes and infamous white face. John Henry knew what a warlock was like— and Michael was not one. He takes it upon himself to get Michael out of jail and cleanse him before the warlocks can get to him.Meanwhile, Michael must rid any threat John Henry may pose in exposing him to the warlocks as an evil force. But he decides to have fun with it.*part two to pour your sins on me baby. basically the spawn of satan gets fucked by a hot older priest in a church and then he kills him.





	1. I'm your pope, I'm your pastor babe

**Author's Note:**

> the first chapter is a short prelude to set everything up, based on the scene in episode 4 where Michael is in jail. the second chapter is the good stuff. if you haven't read pour your sins on me baby, do that first then come back!
> 
> please do not read if you are sensitive to anything blasphemous, otherwise enjoy! <3
> 
> also, I sprinkled in actual lines from the season so see if you can spot 'em all oooo

“You’re not a lawyer,” Michael stated in an obvious tongue-in-cheek manner, rolling over from where he had been laying on his side facing the wall to peek over his shoulder at the man shooting daggers at him outside his holding cell. 

John Henry’s chin was confidently tilted upward, giving Michael a perfect view of the sharp jawline that he clenched so tightly with exasperation.

“No, but I am here to save you like one,” Father John Henry responded.

He wore his clerical clothing, black pants and a matching button down with the typical priestly white collar clasped around his neck (which Michael quickly found he was attracted to). He had an article of clothing, presumably a coat, thrown over his shoulder and his hands were buried in his pockets. The sight mixed with the memory of what happened last time they were together made Michael feel dirty and wrong, like he was in trouble. It was absolutely thrilling.

“What are you gonna do, lecture me on how I need to let God in my life?” he teased. “You might have to try a little harder.”

He turned back over and laid his head on his hands, legs curled up to fit his long body on the platform that the prison guards dared to call a bed. For a few moments it was quiet, making him question if the priest had given up and left.

“They think you’re a warlock,” John Henry suddenly announced, causing Michael to freeze. “My friends, at Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men, if you’ve heard of it. They saw your interrogation video. They think you’re one of them.”

The younger man’s interest was piqued through the roof. He knitted his eyebrows together and sat up with intense curiosity, both hands gripping edge of the hard surface he’d been sleeping on. 

“A warlock?” he asked, scooting forward with engrossment. The priest almost winced at the sizable cut on his left cheek that was revealed when he sat up. It appeared as though he’d been slashed, but with the bruising around the wound it was difficult to tell exactly what had happened. John Henry disregarded it.

“The grand chancellor is on his way to recruit you in hopes you’ll join the ranks. They want to teach you how to control your.... supposed magic.”

Michael lit up. The opportunity was massive. “Whoa. Magic, huh? They really think I’m a warlock?”

“Yes, but you aren’t. Are you?”

The light in him died almost as fast as it had formed and Michael’s eyes cowered away. “I don’t know,” he said timidly. “I don’t know who I am.” 

“I do.”

He reluctantly returned his gaze. There was a degree of power John Henry held that came from looking down at him through cold metal bars, and he wasn’t sure if he enjoyed that or not. 

“You’re someone who can draw five knives into a person’s body at once without even touching them. Someone who’s rage manifests through inflicting torture, someone who can force a human head to explode without missing a beat. Those aren’t signs of being a warlock, they’re-“

“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” he half-whispered. In contrast to his watery baby blues, his expression remained solemn. Strong. “Never.”

John Henry gave him a sympathetic glare and a sigh full of pity. He believed him. Maybe the remorse was deep down inside, buried within the crux of his being, but he believed him.

“It’s a classic case of demonic possession,” he explained. “You’re powerful, Michael. But it’s not your power.”

Michael wrinkled his nose to sniff back the tears that threatened to fall and shook his head.

“I don’t understand. You said you were going to save me. How are you going to save me?”

“Well,” he began. “In about...”

John Henry tugged his sleeve back and flicked his wrist up to glance at his watch in a way that made Michael’s skin tingle. 

“...thirty seconds, you will have been in there for twenty four hours. No evidence, no charges. So as per the law...” 

“I’m free?”

“Free?” He chuckled. “Not quite. I’m not sure you’ve ever been free, but if you let me take you back to church I intend to change that.”

His voice was so naturally seductive, Michael thought. There was a prolonged emotional silence that stirred in his belly.

“Why?” he finally asked. “I’ve been nothing but trouble to you. Why help me?”

John Henry pressed his lips together. He couldn’t let Michael think he was doing this for him, even though at least partially he may have been.

“If you’re not saved, I don’t think anyone else you come across will be.”


	2. obey like I'm your master, babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Henry fucks Michael in a church. Michael can't risk being exposed to the warlocks, so he kills him after they're done.

The church greeted the unlikely duo with its powerful odor of old wood and musky incense.

“Hello? Anyone in?” John Henry called in from the side door.

His voice bounced off the intricately patterned walls but there was no answer. All clear.

John Henry stepped inside first and Michael followed close behind, holding his left arm shyly behind his back from the discomfort caused by all the religious objects surrounding him.

He didn’t realize how little attention he’d paid to the details of the setting last time he was there. He surveyed the place, noting how what it lacked in width it made up for in length, with a walkway that looked as long as a full block from where he stood and a high ceiling painted with angels. There were few windows, however the ones that did exist were high up too. Prominent, but not nearly as prominent as the enormous crucifix hanging above the altar where Jesus wept with nails in his palms. Above his head were four letters. _INRI_ , Michael read. _What the fuck does that even mean?_

Despite the cool-toned glow of the afternoon seeping in from outside through stained glass, the lights within the church itself were, evidently, still out from Michael’s confessional antics. The room was full of burning candles in attempt to create the illusion of real light, but they did nothing but cast some hint of orange that oddly enough comforted the antichrist.

“Isn’t church supposed to be well-lit?” Michael asked with a knowing grin.

John Henry rolled his eyes. “Lights, speakers, microphones, it’s all shot thanks to your little visit,” he sassed, tossing the coat that hung off his shoulder onto the pew-front that served to separate the first row from the altar setup. “We’ve been able to manage holding daytime mass, but when it gets dark out it’s no use. Had to cancel tonight’s service.”

He spoke about it as if it were an accident. As if Michael just happened to break a fuse box, like he didn’t completely destroy every ounce of electricity with his mind while he came in his pants in the back room.

“Not that you care,” he added.

John Henry was aware that it wasn’t exactly ideal to perform a private exorcism in a public place of worship. Normally for a case like this there would need to be approval granted by the bishop, but there was no time and this was the best option. To lessen the risk of getting caught, he turned back to lock up from inside.

“Anyway, everything should be getting replaced by tomorrow.”

Michael didn’t reply and instead chose to observe the man while he fiddled with securing the doors shut.

“What are you doing, keeping me hostage?” he smiled. 

John Henry let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, you wish, I’m sure,” he muttered without much thought. 

“I do wish.”

When John Henry looked back at Michael he fully expected him to have that dark look in his eyes, the one he caught a glimpse of just before his departure from the confessional. But all he found was a boy. A simple, sweet boy standing tall and awkward, squeezing his arm and beaming. The cut on his face could have easily made him look more intimidating. But it didn’t. John Henry should have been scared of him, but with a face like that it was too easy to forget all the reasons why.

“Right.” He half-smiled back, but not for long. “Have a seat.”

John Henry turned his back to go retrieve what he needed to exorcise him, but there wasn’t a chance on Earth of Michael letting that happen. He had other plans. He sauntered over to the first pew and sat facing the jacket that the priest had thrown down upon arrival. It smelled like him.

“Smoking is a nasty habit,” he said, reaching out and picking up the coat to hold it to his nose. He dipped his hand inside a pocket and pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. “Your body’s supposed to be a temple, Father. Isn’t it?” He snapped his wrist and sent the box flying across the room.

The purposeful distraction seemed to work. John Henry stopped in his tracks to spin and glare at him, quirking an eyebrow. “No business of yours.”

Michael’s eyes didn’t leave John Henry’s as he searched the opposite pocket and pulled out his wallet. There was a bit of panic in the man’s eyes.

“And what do we have here?” He presented a small packet of lube that he’d slipped out of a card holder and smiled triumphantly. “No condoms? Or did you just recently use your last and forget to restock?”

John Henry was beyond dumbfounded as to how Michael knew all of this but he pushed the confusion aside. “Listen, it isn’t your job to police my vices,” he retorted.

“But it’s your job to do so with others?” Michael challenged, his accusatory tone in total contrast to the priest’s calm demeanor. He let the items in his hands drop from his grip to the floor. “Isn’t that what confession is? Letting people know how wrong they are meanwhile you’re just the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Penance is a choice,” he defended. “People who choose to come confess generally know they’re wrong, I don’t need to tell them.”

“No, but you do need to absolve them. They rely on you to. So tell me Father, how could you possibly clean someone with dirty hands?”

The priest felt something flare up inside him as he took two steps toward Michael. He knew it was what he wanted, but it was too hard to contain. “My personal business is neither here nor there—“

“You can’t heal me. You can’t heal anybody, not with that guilty conscience,” he spat. “Besides, what do I need you for anyway? What have I done but cause some mischief and try to have a little fun—“

“You’re _dangerous_ , Michael!” John Henry boomed, making him flinch and jump back in his seat. “You killed a man! Your abilities are dark, they’re volatile, and I _saw_ that white faced demon. I saw it. There is something _wrong_ with you! Deeply wrong!”

It started with a quiver of Michael’s lip, and all at once his face crumbled and he hunched forward, shoulders shaking in sync with his sobs, creating sorrowful echoes.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, raising his hands and lowering his face into them. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be like this. I don't know why this is happening to me. I know I need help. I’m s-so sorry.”

John Henry’s eyes were wide with a successful guilt trip. “Michael,” he consoled while still managing to keep his voice firm, walking to where he was and sliding in beside him into the pew. “Michael calm down.” He pressed a comforting hand to his back, easily coming to his rescue because he couldn’t help but separate the young man from the demon he believed possessed him. “Look, I shouldn’t have said it that way. I know you’re sorry. Something is making you dangerous. It’s not you, not at all. Please stop crying.”

“It is me,” he sobbed. “I’m horrible. Evil, monstrous, just like my dad said. That’s why my mother tried to kill me. That’s why they didn’t want me, it’s why _nobody_ wanted me.”

The priest’s heart broke for him. “Now if I believed that, I wouldn’t have brought you here. You can be better, that’s what I believe in. And that’s what you want, yes? You want to be better?”

Michael stood quiet and sniffled while slowly leaning into Father John Henry’s arm, until his head was on his shoulder.

“I just want to be wanted,” he said with a tremor in his voice, nuzzling his head in the crook of the man’s neck. “For me. The real me.” Light as a feather, his pinky finger grazed the man’s thigh. “Don’t you?”

John Henry knew what he was asking, and for that reason he didn’t say a thing. He barely acknowledged the intimacy of the touch and extended his hand from Michael’s back to his opposite shoulder. For a moment, he just held him.

“You’ve spent your whole life pretending,” Michael continued, drawing imaginary circles in John Henry’s polyester-clad leg. “Really makes you wonder who’d still want you around if you stopped.”

He traced up the inseam of the man’s pants, causing him to still, before boldly outstretching his fingers and laying the hand upon his thigh entirely, caressing back and forth. Similarly to how he felt in the confessional with Michael, John Henry felt his gut get hot, feeling like he was on fire. This time though, he thought maybe he might’ve been okay with it.

“I would, you know,” Michael said in response to his own question posed. “Maybe your clergy brothers wouldn’t, not even your own father, but me?” He lifted his head to face John Henry with the most sincerity he could muster. “I’d still want you,” he smiled, knowing exactly what he wanted to hear. 

It was the closest in proximity they’d ever been. Inches from contact. They could hear each other breathe. Michael closed the gap by leaning his forehead against John Henry’s and holding it there. Their noses brushed and the man closed his eyes.

“Are you gonna stop me?” Michael barely whispered. John Henry didn’t answer. He tightened his grip on the priest’s thigh and asked again as he leaned in. “Are you?”

With no room given for a second chance to answer, the way he met John Henry’s lips was immediate. The priest showed hesitation but Michael was determined. He pivoted his body out toward him and curled his fingers around the nape of his neck, silently begging to keep the sweet kiss steady.

Michael hummed against his lips to encourage him and gave light scratches to the back of his head. John Henry’s muscles went lax at the feeling, and he began to kiss the younger man back with fervor.

Moving to rest both hands on the spots where John Henry’s neck met his shoulders, Michael used the position to deepen the kiss and press up against the side of his body as an invitation to touch him.

John Henry obliged and ran a calloused hand down Michael’s side to his hip, letting it linger. Michael made a muffled noise of approval and with one swift motion, straddled John Henry’s lap in the pew and slipped him an eager tongue.

Michael didn’t necessarily have much sexual experience, but he didn’t need it. With his Satan-given charm he was quite naturally a sexual being and terrifyingly good at taking the lead. Despite the sudden move, John Henry followed along and felt a boiling wave of arousal wash over him as Michael licked into his mouth and bumped the bulge in his ripped jeans against his stomach.

He had completely dominated, biting the man’s lip and whispering sweet nothings between each hot kiss, but he needed more. Michael broke away to reach behind him and bunch up his shirt, roughly pulling the sleeveless piece of fabric over his head and discarding it somewhere near John Henry’s jacket on the ground.

Between the seconds of seeing Michael’s naked chest in front of him and feeling his mouth again, John Henry began to question his morality. Things were escalating and Michael was clearly not well. The demon is getting stronger, he thought.

John Henry made stifled sounds of protest while being tongued down and clutched the boy’s wrist for his attention. “Michael,” he muttered. Having gone ignored, he repeated his name clearly the second time and pushed him back into his original sitting position, escaping out of the pew and rounding over in front of it. “I’m sorry,” he said, walking toward the altar area and searching it with his eyes. He was looking for something. “This isn’t right. I can’t let those warlocks take whatever is inside you into their home.”

At first Michael was at a loss for words. He blinked a few times. “What?” he asked, shaking off the rejection. “Father stop, this is silly.“

“You’ll feel much better after I’m done here. I promise.” John Henry grabbed a small crucifix the church used for decoration and began to approach him with it in his hand. He could already see his features contorting with agitation. “Just... cooperate with me,” he eased. “Just let me try this out, see what happens.” 

Michael bubbled up with fury as the man held the object up and with only a few words his ears were sizzling with burning pain.

“Exorcizamus te, immundus spiritus—“

The cross flew out of John Henry’s grasp in a flash, colliding with the nearest wall and subsequently breaking in two.

While maintaining eye contact with the frightened priest, Michael leaned over and lowered the fold-out kneeler in front of him. He slid off his seat and dropped to his knees onto the cushiony surface. From where John Henry was standing just a few feet in front of him, the barrier created by the pew-front shielded a shirtless Michael from the torso down. As if his own thoughts were out of his control, he pictured him to be completely undressed.

“Come here,” Michael urged. He tapped on the pew-front that aligned with the bottom of his chest, where churchgoers would usually rest their praying hands when kneeling during mass.

It didn’t take much to notice John Henry’s skeptical state. Michael smiled something sinister, but earnest. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he added, as if it were obvious information. “C’mere.”

In the moment, John Henry supposed he trusted him. Why did he trust him?

His shoes clicked on the tiled floor with tentative steps and he stood directly in front of Michael, towering over him like some sort of master and yet between the two he still lacked the upper hand. Their eyes bore into one another’s, and John Henry couldn’t explain it, but there was something erotic about the amount of power and allure Michael knew he possessed even while looking up at the man from his knees.

“Remember back in jail when you said that you don’t think I’ve ever been free?” Michael lifted his hands and wrapped his fingers around John Henry’s belt. He tugged, and the man’s legs hit the pew-front. “You were wrong, Father,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “I am free.”

He slid one hand off the man’s belt down to where his pants were tented, rubbing over clothing the way he’d previously done to himself in the same church just the other day. John Henry bit the inside of his cheek.

“Even locked in that cell I was free,” he continued. “And you envy me for it. Because you were shackled your whole life, and now you live like a fraud. It’s miserable.” His tone carried no contempt, only sympathy.

He dragged his fingers over the outline of John Henry’s shaft, tantalizing enough to cause the man’s breath to falter, then made his way back to his belt and slowly started to undo it without even looking.

“I know who you are, Father. You just want to feel free, the way I do. To be able to keep your job, your family, your life... while feeling wild and electrified behind closed doors without shame. You can do that.” He unbuttoned the man’s pants and grabbed a hold of his zipper. “I can make you feel free,” he insisted, bringing the zipper down tooth by tooth. “Let me.”

Michael was much easier to resist when bound by a confessional screen, that much was clear. The reddish bruising and dried blood on his face remained a brutal sight, but the smile on his lips was soft as ever as he pulled John Henry’s pulsing member from its cotton confines.

His hand felt so tender wrapped around the base of his cock that John Henry simply couldn’t think about anything else. Being exposed in a church wasn’t on his mind, or even the failed exorcism, because the only thing that mattered on Earth right then was how supple those fingertips were.

Michael gazed up at the man he was about to please. He placed a gentle kiss to the tip of his dick, swirled his sinful tongue around it in teasing circles and pushed it into his mouth. John Henry let out a small grunt, all the encouragement Michael needed to start bobbing his head with patience and diligence, wetting more and more of his length each time he’d push forward.

His pace picked up rather quickly all on its own, reaching a point where the man’s cock was soaked in spit, veins glistening in all their glory.

Whenever Michael pulled away to take a breath he made sure to pump and rotate his enclosed fist with just as much effort as his mouth gave and watched hungrily as the head of John Henry’s cock would disappear and reappear in his grip.

“Does that feel good, Father? Does that feel _freeing_?” he purred, dragging his tongue along the underside and returning to suck him through a moan of confirmation. He was a trooper, giving it all the attention and energy he had, but John Henry could tell his jaw was beginning to tire.

With that realization, he seized Michael by the hair to keep him still.

“Don’t move.”

Michael complied and let his hand drop back to the ledge of the pew-front, letting the man search his eyes for whatever he was trying to find. Or not find. Michael gladly kept his suction tight as John Henry jolted his hips and took control.

He was steady and careful at first, sliding on and off Michael’s tongue until the heat of his mouth became too much for him to hold off. Holding his blonde head in place, John Henry began fucking his mouth good and hard and hitting the back of his throat continuously, making poor Michael drool and gag, eyes watering up as perspiration littered his forehead.

The boy looked obscene, moaning enough to send vibrations and chills up John Henry’s spine and shutting his eyes for a second to squeeze out the tears that had gathered from the impact. He batted his wet lashes up at John Henry which caused the man to curse under his breath and slip a quarter of the way into Michael’s hot throat.

In an ambitious move, Michael propelled his head forward and took him a little over halfway, throat constricting around the length until John Henry responsibly yanked him back for relief.

“Such a good boy,” he praised a gasping Michael, holding the base of his own cock and smacking it against the younger one’s parted lips.

“Yeah?” Michael swiped his tongue out for a taste of the precum leaking off John Henry’s slit before touching the man’s arm as a signal for him to lower it away and free his head. He then leaned down to pick up the packet of lube from the floor that he had discarded from his wallet earlier and held it up. “Good enough to get fucked?” he asked in a hoarse voice, reaching forward and offering a smirk as he stuffed it into the priest’s front pocket.

The sweltering lust John Henry felt was bursting at the seams. He returned to clutching Michael’s hair and pulled him up to his feet by it to join them together. They kissed as Michael made his way out of the pew into the aisle and John Henry backed up toward the altar. He stopped once they reached the side of it and pinned Michael to the edge.

John Henry’s chest heaved as he sucked a bruise into Michael’s neck and kissed down his bare chest to his tummy that just barely poked out from the rest of his body. He seemed to be in a rush as he crouched and stripped Michael of his jeans and boxers with one tug, but he stopped and stared up at him once they were around his ankles.

His cock had bobbed gracefully against his stomach and his elbows were placed on the altar, arms spread not exactly, but similarly enough to the hanging statue of Jesus on the cross that also happened to be in John Henry’s line of vision. He looked up at the giant crucifix, then back at Michael, who’s head was angled down at him completely with warm glimmering eyes.

Their gazes locked and John Henry took his time unzipping Michael’s combat boots and removing them from his feet, like Cinderella in reverse, he thought. With those stereotypical locks made of gold and cliché ocean eyes like his, the comparison wasn’t far off. Only he was the Cinderella that the evil stepmother would have liked. Maybe her favorite. He would still get the prince in the end, too.

Michael stepped out of his pants once his shoes had come off, leaving him stark naked save his pair of short black socks. John Henry consciously left them the way they were. The church floor would be too cold to be barefoot.

On his way back up Michael’s body, he stroked his cock only once before hoisting him up on the altar and laying him back. Michael was already sighing in ecstasy when John Henry hooked his hands under his knees and dragged him down nearer to his face to hover in the middle of his thighs.

Hitching one leg over his shoulder and holding the other back, John Henry breathed lightly over the boy and trailed his lips from his shaft and down his balls to his rim where he dipped close to outline it with the very end of his tongue. Michael shivered at the touch and involuntarily wiggled his hips.

After a moment of drawing careful circles, John Henry spit suddenly, making Michael jump. His tongue went flat and he dragged it back and forth before pursing his lips around his hole and sucking.

Michael fisted the tablecloth and whimpered, jerking his lower half off the altar to grind against the man’s face, but John Henry pinned him down before he could get too carried away.

He rubbed his beard up against Michael’s smooth skin while he tasted it, eliciting a moan from the burning sensation, and with no warning slid his lapping tongue inside him.

“Daddy,” Michael pleaded.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked to the side with half-lidded eyes, catching sight of the only object that rested on the altar with him. It was an open book sitting on a stand. He couldn’t read the words from where he laid and couldn’t concentrate enough to try, not with the pleasure of John Henry salivating between his legs. He knew it wasn’t a bible. It was written like a script from what he could see. The book used for mass. _What the fuck was it called?_ He bit back a moan and with a single finger shut the book closed where it was, revealing the soft vinyl cover with gold lettering. _Missal. That’s the name. Missal._

Without delay Michael snatched it off the stand and shoved it underneath his head like a makeshift pillow. John Henry barely noticed, too busy tongue-fucking the boy into oblivion. Refusing to stop, he reached into his pocket and tossed the packet of lube onto Michael’s stomach. Michael ripped open the plastic with his teeth and handed it back between desperate moans, holding his legs up on his own and watching while John Henry reasonably coated his finger and replaced his tongue with it. It slipped in with ease, right down to the knuckle.

“A-Ahhh,” Michael stuttered, tightening around the long digit. John Henry curled up inside him and Michael lolled his head back against the missal. “ _Yyyyyes_ ,” he drawled out. “Deeper, _yes_.”

He worked him open until he could fit two, then three, curling and beckoning in the boy’s guts and making him cry for more. His language was profane, but he looked delicate. So delicate, skin absolutely glowing despite the horrible light and his face the prettiest it’d ever been, even with a bloody gash ripped through its side.

John Henry kept his fingers deep and in motion, using his mouth on Michael’s balls when he noticed he was squirming and pinching his nipples.

“Fuck me, fuck me now, I need you,” he demanded, letting out a broken moan when John Henry flicked his tongue. “Please.”

Pulling his fingers from Michael’s hole and causing a strangled little noise, John Henry used what was left in the package he had to spread the slippery substance along his cock before promptly throwing it off somewhere.

“Why don’t you stand?” he suggested. Michael listened and sat up, being helped down off the altar with John Henry’s free hand. His cheeks and nose were a light shade of red. John Henry held the boy’s jaw in his hand and kissed him before turning him around and pressing onto the dip of his back, forcing him to bend over the altar.

Michael reached out for the missal and brought it underneath him once more, this time as a place to put his elbows.

John Henry dragged his dress pants down so they bunched around his thighs and he prodded at Michael’s slick entrance. He considered the fact that he may have not been used to this feeling, so he went easy, inch by inch.

Michael had used a sex toy or two on himself before, but never with this kind of girth, and it certainly didn’t feel the same. He was undeniably sensitive to how he was being stretched over John Henry’s length, yet he wouldn’t dare wish the feeling to leave. The way he was hurting only added to his bliss.

“God,” John Henry sighed. Michael grinned to himself through the pain at the irony.

When the man rocked his hips, pleasure coiled in Michael’s belly and his mouth fell open. John Henry kept his thrusts achingly slow, giving Michael more of him with each one. He stopped and paused when his cock was entirely swallowed up by Michael’s heat, nudging right on his prostate and soaking in the feeling of being wrapped in him.

“Give it to me,” Michael ordered under his breath. “Give me all you got.”

His arms were trembling but he was ambitious enough to know he could take it. As soon as John Henry felt him clench around his member, the man seemingly filled with greed, consumed by the thought of what it’d feel like to cum this way. His previously slow movements turned sloppy and Michael groaned at the switch of pace, grabbing a hold of his own dick and starting to stroke himself in tune.

“Can’t keep your hands off yourself, can you?” John Henry rasped.

Michael chuckled between moans. “Can you blame me?” he whispered cockily.

John Henry pushed a hand into Michael’s tousled head of hair and fucked him harder in response. He pulled so his head curved back, slamming their bodies together and making the church echo with uh-uh-uhs and sounds of skin. Michael was seeing stars.

“Yeah— oh, _fuck_ , yeah, just like that,” he encouraged. “Feels good to be a sinner, doesn’t it Father?”

And it did. Somehow giving in to his carnal desires within the same house that usually forced him to repress them was the utmost exhilaration John Henry could ever remember feeling.

“You’re not just a sinner Michael. You _are_ sin,” John Henry murmured. He yanked his hair again and the boy moaned from his throat. “Filthy and beautiful, like sin.”

He moved the hand that he held Michael with down and traced his spine, admiring how his back muscles would go taut every time he let a pleased noise pass through his lips.

“I could fuck you all day. Attend to you, make you cum as many times as you wanted. God, I could just...”

Michael looked over his shoulder and smiled coyly. “Worship me?”

It was wrong, he knew Michael was a dark force, and still at this moment he did want to praise him. To give thanks to him, adore him like an idol. Like God. “Fuck,” he growled, driving his hips faster. “Yes, yes, fuck, have mercy.”

John Henry took Michael by his sides and bounced him on and off his cock, making him dip his head down and keen. And with each push and pull, he only got louder.

It came to a point where Michael felt taken in every sense of the word. Full. Whole, even. United with religion in the most salacious form and the taboo air of it was making him sweat, turned on to an unbearable degree. He may have been the embodiment of what most would consider evil, but at the end of the day he was still a young, desperate, hungry virgin.

“I-I’m almost there, shit,” Michael whined, rubbing the bit of precum dripping off the head of his dick in circles with his thumb. “Getting close, daddy, I- I can’t take it.”

“Need to see your face,” John Henry breathed, gliding out to leave Michael empty for a moment. “Need to see you when I make you cum.”

When Michael picked his head back up, he made eye contact with the hanging Jesus on the wall for the second time. What had unsettled him upon first entering was becoming a point of arousal. The fact that not far below it, the church was being defiled by one of God’s own and Satan’s spawn himself. He felt more evil with every time he looked at the holy object and he craved that feeling. He needed it.

John Henry spun him around by the arm and Michael dove in to crash their mouths together with urgency, taking him by the back of his neck and digging his fingernails in. He brought John Henry around the altar completely. There they stood in a messy kiss, directly in the spot where John Henry would normally stand to offer mass in front of the neighborhood’s entire Catholic community.

Michael hauled himself up on the altar and John Henry took him by the legs, thumping him down on his back and sliding his bottom half slightly off the surface, holding him there as he realigned and pushed inside.

All that went through the younger man’s head was the amount of times John Henry had likely preached the word of God in the same spot that he was now cursing about how tight Michael felt. How many times he’d presented the body and blood of Christ in the same place that Michael’s body now lied.

John Henry was panting above him, snapping his hips at the perfect angle and reaching to place a hand over Michael’s throat. He pressed the pads of his fingers lightly into the boy’s skin, squeezing the sides with care, and Michael arched his back.

“Touch me,” Michael croaked. Every ounce of his blood was rushing to his length, making him throb and swear and writhe with delight at the wickedness of it all.

John Henry fisted Michael’s cock with vigor, triggering a deep exhale from the pit of the boy’s stomach. He sat up on his elbows, watching John Henry work him up and down and jab at his prostate like an animal before his eyes flickered to look the Jesus statue in the face for a third time.

At once, fiery tingles coursed through Michael’s bones and he tossed his head back, crying out and cumming in thick white ropes over the priest’s hand.

“Don’t stop! Just like that, oh— fuck, don’t stop!”

He didn’t. He fucked Michael right through his orgasm, ogling at the way his face twisted with rapture with the word _daddy_ on his lips. His dick twitched inside him at the pornographic sight and with only a few more strokes, he was hitting his own climax.

Coming out of his daze with a satisfied hum, Michael had time to compose his breathing and get his mind right. He stared John Henry down while he spilled his seed inside his lush little hole, and it was then that he sensed that all the pretty words the man spoke in their time together were purely in the moment. There was no chance he’d be an ally to him. He knew that at his core. John Henry would always try his very best to do the right thing. The good thing. And good was useless to him.

Michael’s eyes rolled to the back of his head while John Henry came down and he closed his fist, knocking the man down so he slid against the floor, back hitting the same wall that Jesus hung upon. Before he could yell or speak any word of protest, Michael released his fist and the heavy crucifix came crashing down, hitting John Henry in the head and instantly rendering him unconscious.

Even the antichrist himself was shocked at the way his powers had manifested with the harsh blow. He rose to sit, soiling the altar tablecloth with the cum seeping out from his hole and stared blankly at the messes he had made: first John Henry, then his sticky stomach, then John Henry again. One edge of the cross was digging into the man’s skull and making blood ooze from his head, staining his clerical clothes and pooling in a puddle on the floor.  _Wow_.

He may’ve not expected it to turn out the exact way it did, but he meant it. Nothing could get in the way of him being a step closer to fulfilling his prophecy, not even a good fuck that he may or may not have been a sucker for. It was a shame, really. John Henry could have found the love of his life in the future. He was built for that, Michael thought.

Michael stood to his sock-clad feet and took his time getting re-dressed. He returned to the pew he and John Henry once sat on together to fetch his shirt and pull it on, then picked the priest’s coat up from the floor, putting it over his shoulder and taking his wallet with him too. He inspected the corpse a final time before he exited. His dick was still hard. _Jesus Christ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I likely won't continue this unless it's asked for, in which case John Henry would of course be resurrected and it would just be one more part. thanks so much for reading this long ass thing please leave something nice bc I'm insecure <3

**Author's Note:**

> kissydevil.tumblr.com follow me children


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